


Unsolicited Gifts

by anticyclone



Series: Three's A Crowd [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Consent Issues, Crowley's Snake Tongue, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, Post-Canon, Unwilling Arousal, Voyeurism, Wing Kink, again: he's literally Satan, brief Snake Crowley, mild psychic control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-25 16:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20727350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticyclone/pseuds/anticyclone
Summary: "Our definitions of fun may be disparate," Aziraphale said, casting his eyes up and back down again. Not quite rolling them. Thank fuck.Lucifer glanced at Crowley and then back at Aziraphale. "Not that dissimilar," he said. And he grinned at Crowley's breath catching.It's been a week since Lucifer invited himself to Crowley and Aziraphale's night at the theater. Now a set of very surprising gifts has arrived at the bookshop, along with an invitation-slash-summons to Crowley's flat. Except Crowley refuses to meet the Morningstar in his own flat, so they just … don't go. It even works! For a few days, anyway. Lucifer has plans and he won't be put off from them.





	Unsolicited Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to everybody who's already read and complimented this.
> 
> (The end notes are story-content footnotes, they're linked in the text.)

When Crowley rounded the corner into the front of the shop, his footsteps were muffled by the frantic sounds of somebody shoving things out of sight. That was the kind of thing a demonic ear always picked up on. Since the shop had decidedly closed twenty minutes ago and Aziraphale had long since glowered the only attempted customer of the day out the door, that was … intriguing.

Crowley deliberately slowed his saunter down to give Aziraphale more time to hide whatever it was he'd been looking at. It wasn't fun if Crowley made it too easy for himself. By the time he swung back around to the front counter, there was no evidence that Aziraphale had been looking at anything besides an upside-down copy of a Georgette Heyer novel Crowley refused to say the title of.

Really, Aziraphale should have known better than to miracle Heyer's _Devil's Cub_ into his hands, even upside down, because Crowley damn well knew the angel had it memorized.[1]

"What'cha reading?" he asked anyway.

"Nothing!" Aziraphale slammed the book shut, noticed it was upside down, started to turn it rightside up, realized that would be suspicious, and folded his hands together on top of it instead. He shot Crowley a wide, toothy smile that was not at all questionable. "And it was nobody."

Crowley set down the bottle of wine and the glasses he'd been pulling out of the back. "What was nobody?"

Blue eyes blinked at him. "Um. Nothing."

"Nothing was nobody?" Crowley put an elbow down on the counter and raised an eyebrow.

"Just so. What wine did you choose?"

Crowley plucked the bottle away a second before Aziraphale's hand could close on it. "Who was at the door, angel?"

Because what else could that mean? And it had to be bad, or Aziraphale wouldn't be hiding it from him. It definitely wasn't a gift. Aziraphale would never have a gift delivered instead of picking it up himself, in person. And anyway, it was ten o'clock at night.

"I don't know why you think someone was at the door," Aziraphale said.

Crowley tipped his head so his glasses slid down his nose.

Aziraphale fidgeted, his eyes darting around the shop, looking everywhere but Crowley. His hands tightened on top of the book, and he bit his lip, and shifted his weight, and generally just bubbled until he finally broke and boiled over. Sighing, he pulled something up from underneath the counter. "It was a florist," he said, the way other people said, "You have three days to live."

It might have been an accurate comparison.

"Who," Crowley asked, even though he didn't really need to, "sssent you an _orchid?"_

Aziraphale gazed up at him mournfully. "It's not for me, dear," he said, pulling the little white card out of the pot. The pot that held a white orchid with a smash of suggestive red at its center. It was healthy and beautiful and thriving, and Crowley wanted to light it on fire. He yanked the card from Aziraphale's fingers, glanced at it, and immediately regretted it.

_Darling,_ it said. _The theatre was lovely, but something more private is called for next time. Shall I met you two at yours?_

Crowley set the card on fire because he thought it would make him feel better. Of course, the bloody scrap of paper wouldn't burn.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said.

He let the flames die out and dropped the card to the counter.

Aziraphale reached out, appeared to think better of it, and looked back at his Heyer. He touched the cover like it was a beloved old friend giving him a hug. Crowley folded both his arms on the counter and buried his face in the fabric of his sleeves. The orchid sat accusingly at his elbow. He was not, absolutely not, going to look at it. It was going straight in the bin. He wouldn't give it the dignity of the disposal.

There was a soft touch on his head. "I think," Aziraphale said, gently brushing his fingers through Crowley's hair, "we need to devise a strategy."

Groaning warranted too much energy. Crowley flicked one finger into the air instead.

"Oh, really."

"You can't out-devissse an earthquake, angel," he hissed, into his sleeve. The effect was somewhat muted. He let Aziraphale pet him for another moment and forced himself to swallow the rest of his urge for sibilance down. "There's no tactics to the Morningstar. You just avoid him as long as you can, until he finds you."

Aziraphale touched his temple, and Crowley reluctantly turned his head to the side, so he could peer up over his glasses.

"He seems to be in good humor. Perhaps we can reason with him."

It was true that Lucifer did seem to still be in a good mood about the both of them, which in Crowley's experience was an unprecedented thing. Good moods in Hell were like traffic-free moments on the M25: transient, unbelievable, and in spite of rather than because of anything Crowley had done.

This made no sense. Especially since the last they knew, Lucifer had been yelled out of London a week ago by a very pissed off Archangel Michael. It had stormed so heavily and for so long that the Thames itself had rocked. Lots of canceled flights at Heathrow. It would've been demonic poetry if it hadn't been so divine.

"Reason with him? He was _humming_ on the walk outside, angel."

Crowley was still trying very hard not to think about the roar of the standing ovation while he'd still been on his knees in the theater. Or the hiss Lucifer had let out when Aziraphale's briefly manifested halo had hit him, the way his hand had tightened possessively in Crowley's hair while Crowley swallowed Aziraphale down. Or Aziraphale crying out-

Okay. He was trying not to think about it. But it was a lot not to think about.

Wrinkling his nose, Aziraphale admitted, too, "I've been trying not to think about that." Then he sighed. "Do you really think the best thing to do is ignore him?"

"Unless you've got a bright idea. What were you going to do, anyway? Hide the plant from me until you thought of something?"

Aziraphale tutted and did not answer, choosing instead to pick up both of the empty wineglasses. "Let's go to the back, dear. I'll read to you."

"Not that book," Crowley said, reluctantly slithering off the counter.

Aziraphale left the Heyer behind. It was too easy, but Crowley selfishly wanted easy. He let Aziraphale get comfortable at the end of the couch and then draped himself along the length of it, resting his head solidly in the angel's lap for the better part of the evening.

He should've known better than to think Aziraphale had actually dropped it. Satan certainly wasn't going to.

***

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, several mornings later. "You can't just never go back to your flat again."

"Watch me."

Since the florist's delivery Aziraphale had not put the open sign back in the shop window. But he was an angel of the Lord (although not of Heaven, as late), and he wasn't about to let even the Morningstar, Angel of Light, Angel of the Abyss, The Evil One, et cetera, drive him from two hundred years of habit.

So the bookshop was open. It would remain open for at least an hour (or whatever Aziraphale decided an hour felt like) and then he would close it again for tea. The point was to reinforce routine. Which was why he had a half-memorized book of prophecy open on the counter.

It was quite impossible to read even that with the way Crowley insisted on pacing, though. He had taken to it the past few days, all of which he'd spent in the shop.

"What about your plants?"

"I don't care."

"One of your rubber trees is fifty years old, you care," Aziraphale chided. He hesitated, then plowed on. "Also, I don't think letting Lucifer chase us out of our homes is the precedent we want to set."

"You wouldn't be saying that if he'd sent _you_ an orchid and wanted to meet at the bookshop," Crowley muttered.

Neither of them mentioned that the orchid still sat on the counter. Crowley had thrown it in the bin the morning after it was delivered, and when they'd come back from lunch, it had been whole and intact again. They'd arrived at an unspoken agreement to ignore it. Aziraphale thought Crowley wasn't watering it, either, but it still looked as nice as it had when it'd been delivered.

"Dear, you're making me dizzy. Sit down, please."

Crowley's idea of sitting down was to fling himself bodily into the nearest armchair. It rocked back at the force and when Crowley lifted his feet there was a wooden stool to put them on, even though the stool was supposed to live in the back room. Aziraphale sighed to himself and smiled at the startled customer Crowley had nearly clipped on his way down.

One thing or the other caused her to think she didn't want to browse for books after all. She turned and left the shop almost immediately. Before the door swung shut behind her, another hand reached out to push the door open.

The man who walked through next wore a dark blue uniform and with every step he took forward, Aziraphale's stomach sank. He glanced at Crowley and saw that he was thoroughly concentrating on glaring at a sunbeam coming in through a window. Aziraphale took the chance to slip out from behind the counter. He walked as calmly as possible across the shop, meeting the deliveryman halfway. He kept his voice down, signed for the box, and stood there with it until the door shut again.

Then he went ahead and turned the sign back to CLOSED.

It took a moment to identify what the box was, but by the time he'd turned around, he had a solid knot of slowly blooming dismay in his chest. 

"Oh."

"What?" Crowley asked from the armchair.

Aziraphale thought wistfully of lying, except it had gone so badly last time. "It's a box of chocolate."

Crowley did not lapse into dead silence so much as emanate furious stillness.

Slowly, Aziraphale walked over to the other chair by Crowley. Then he opened the slim white box. It was lined with gold paper. There were a dozen truffles nestled inside, and a small note. The handwriting was the same as the one that had come with the orchid. Both of the delivery people had clearly been mortal, and Aziraphale was momentarily distracted by the thought of Lucifer showing up at the florist and chocolatier in person to purchase the gifts and fill the cards out.

"Angel," Crowley said, staring at him. "You can't be thinking of eating that."

"No, of course not."

"You have this look on your face."

Aziraphale hesitated. He put the lid back on the box of chocolate. Which he was definitely not at all tempted to eat. Or even to slice open, carefully, with a knife, just to see what the flavors were. A great and terrible thought had risen to the surface of his mind and he saw no way of sweeping it back under. "It's only…"

"Yes?"

"It's only, well. Gifts. Do you think he might think he's courting us?"

Crowley's glasses fell off his face. Even though he hadn't moved his head. Just tumbled down into his lap, exposing gold eyes with horror-dilated pupils. He still had his legs spread in a sullen sprawl and he had draped his arms on either side of the chair, so he looked for all the world like a slouching serpent in what Aziraphale was sure were designer jeans.

He opened his mouth. A tiny, _"What?"_ creaked out.

"I think he's demonstrated that he can walk in or engineer a meeting if it suits him. There really is no reason that he should need to wait until we go back to your flat," Aziraphale said. He had been considering this since the orchid arrived. "I'm assuming he wasn't… sending you gifts before…"

Crowley laughed and then slammed a hand across his mouth to stop it. A second later, he spread his fingers and said, "No. No. He didn't."

"Perhaps we could contact him somehow and get ahead of things? Er. Thank you, but no thank you?"

Something was happening on Crowley's face, like he was trying to stop himself from speaking but was going to say it anyway despite his better judgement. He lowered his hand from his mouth just slightly. "What, like," and here he pitched his voice as if he did not have the same accent as Aziraphale, which was just rude, "'Hello, is this Satan? Yes, we just wanted to let you know we got your 'thanks for being such a great fuck' gifts, and-"

"That was uncalled for."

"-and," Crowley repeated. "And. And what, Aziraphale? I don't even know how to call him!"

"How did you do it before?" Aziraphale asked. He was going to have to say something about not only that remark but the imitation, but now was probably not the time.

Crowley put a hand against his temple. "I didn't. He called me. Or wrote. Or summoned."

"Oh."

"Oh," Crowley said, in that imitation again. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"He just seems so… fond of you."

A muscle under Crowley's eye twitched.

"I mean," Aziraphale said, somewhat desperately. "All the, um. The 'darlings,'" he said. The betrayed look was unfair. It wasn't as if he could've _not_ noticed. In his opinion, he had been extremely good about not asking.

Crowley glared and countered, "Sweet Principality?" in a voice that should not have shot right to Aziraphale's gut and did anyway.

Aziraphale felt himself flushing pink. He lifted the lid on the box again just to have something to do, accidentally read the note a second time, and tried to close the box before his face gave anything away. He hadn't expected to suddenly have half a lapful of demon, Crowley having shot himself across the gap between them to pluck the card out.

"Crowley!"

One of his knees rested between Aziraphale's and he braced his other foot on the floor. One of his hands gripped the back of the chair, behind Aziraphale's head, and the other held the card so he could read it. His eyes clearly tracked along the words, paused, swept back, and tracked again.

Unfortunately, Aziraphale knew he was reading: _Sweet Principality, don't you think it's past time we reward Crowley for the other evening?_

Crowley's face had flushed, too, darker than pink. It swept up to the tops of his ears and to his throat. He looked down at Aziraphale and his lips were parted.

Someone knocked on he door.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Aziraphale breathed out. He pushed Crowley off him and stood, straightening his bow tie. Crowley dropped the little card and stared at him, apparently pushed once too far over the line in his brain that allowed him to speak.

Either it would be a customer he could roundly tell off or another deliveryman with something even more outrageous. He stormed across the shop, flung the door open, and realized he should not be surprised to see Lucifer standing there in all of his glory, his silver-crowned cane in one hand.

**You've been avoiding me,** he started, almost sounding proud about it.

"This is getting a little absurd," Aziraphale snapped.

Lucifer stopped.

But Aziraphale couldn't stop there, could he? Once he'd started, he had to keep going. Even though he thought he could hear Crowley fall out of his chair in the background. "We made it quite clear that we don't work for anyone but ourselves any longer, and we won't be summoned anywhere. The gifts were appreciated, but-"

**Did you like the chocolate?** Lucifer raised an eyebrow. He'd folded his hands together on top of his cane. There was a puzzled expression on his face. Like surprise that was surprised to be there.

"It's the thought that counts," Aziraphale said, reflexively. "But Crowley and I are still discussing and we think-"

One of Lucifer's hands came up, then. As soon as Aziraphale registered the sight, the hand was cupped against the back of his head, tugging him forward, and then there was a mouth like the flare of nuclear fallout at his. Heat swarmed through him from his feet up.

Lucifer nipped at his lower lip when he pulled back a moment later. It stung. He didn't lift his hand from Aziraphale's head. His pupils were wider and the surprise had drifted down into a satisfied smirk. Aziraphale was suddenly breathing hard, and he realized that he was swaying. A small kernel of thought occurred to him, that this must be something like what Crowley felt like, under the full force of Lucifer's attention.

**_I_ think,** Lucifer said, **that you should let me in, Aziraphale.**

***

Crowley _had_ fallen out of the chair. He'd been trying to stand, slipped, and fell hard. It had either been the slam of Lucifer's power as the door swung open - Or the shock of Aziraphale's admonishment. Either way, he found himself stuck there on his knees as Lucifer walked Aziraphale backward into the shop. The door shut of its own accord behind them with nothing more than a quiet click.

All the windows shadowed over, too. Even the skylight. Like an acutely localized eclipse.

Neither of them were watching him. Lucifer walked forward, his cane tapping the floor at his side, until Aziraphale bumped into a little table piled high with books and made the whole thing rock. Aziraphale jerked and grabbed the table with both hands, steadying it. Crowley stared at the silver-crowned cane.

It wasn't a cane, of course. Not really. It was a sword. It was what was left of a holy sword after most of it had burned away in a lake of sulfur. It was what was left of a sword after the only metalsmiths Lucifer had taken down with him (not enough, **not good enough**) put the scraps back together. Crowley had seen it unsheathed before and never wanted to again. It had made sense to see the cane summoned to hand when Michael had appeared in the street with them. But this was the bookshop.

Crowley used the chair to pull himself up. He felt a bit like swaying, so he did. He leaned into it. He let himself sway as he crossed the floor, and he bowed his head when Lucifer glanced over.

"This is really not necessary," Aziraphale was saying. His hands had a tight grip on the table behind him and his voice wavered slightly. "If - If you wanted to speak with us, you could have asked-"

**I did.**

"-and waited for us to reply," Aziraphale said, flustered. He let go of the table and Crowley could tell he wanted to move his hands, which he'd always done when he talked, but there wasn't room between him and Lucifer to do it.

There also wasn't room for Crowley to fling himself between them, so Crowley didn't. He swayed right up to their side and said, as evenly as he could, "Time got away from us, Lord."

Bright eyes trailed over him. **Did it,** he said.

Aziraphale made a move like he wanted to step between them, but he couldn't without bumping into Lucifer or shoving Crowley back.

"You know how it is," Crowley said. His free hand twitched at his side, fingers moving into position to snap. He forced them to relax. Or to stretch out, anyway. Miracles weren't going to help here. "We get - I get distracted. Still, uh, keeping an eye out for Michael to come back and ch-" At the last second he realized that repeating something like _can't believe she chewed him out in the middle of London_ would go badly, and switched mid-syllable to "-bother us."

**Mmm.** Lucifer lifted his arm. He slid his hand into Crowley's hair and tilted his head back, so he could lay a kiss just below Crowley's ear. He murmured, **You stood me up, darling.**

Crowley opened his mouth to answer - that must have been his intention, although he had no idea what he could've possibly said to that, because what the actual godforsaken fuck, had Aziraphale been _right?_ \- and found Lucifer's mouth at his. A warning bite to his lip, and then a tongue in his mouth and Lucifer's grip on the back of his head holding him very, very still. It was a little like being set fire to with hardly any oxygen to feed it, so it only smouldered.

A small noise, like a whimper. Crowley thought it was him for a second, but the sound wasn't muffled enough. It had to be Aziraphale.

Finally Lucifer leaned back, leaving Crowley's mouth feeling bruised. **How do you propose to make it up to me?**

"Lord," he said. His brain made clicking sounds inside his skull as it cooled, like the Bentley after a particularly good countryside drive. What. Aziraphale had been right? It was supposed to be an _invitation?_ He hesitated, swallowed, and said again, "Lord," the forked ends of a ribbon-thin black tongue brushing his lips.

It earned him a smirk. The hand in his hair relaxed slightly.

"Lucifer," Aziraphale said. It was the first time he'd said Lucifer's name directly to him, as an address.

They both looked at him. He looked - he looked furious. Crowley had a few thousand years with Aziraphale under his belt at this point and had a near-instinctual reaction to Aziraphale being angry at other people, which was that it swept right through him like pleasant, honeyed fire. It was a strange reaction to have while at the same time coil-panic seized him, because he'd never heard someone say Lucifer like that, not to his _face._

"Why are you here?" Aziraphale asked. His hands were clenched at his sides.

**Were the notes unclear?**

"I think Crowley and I can manage any potential, um," and here Aziraphale's expression faltered as he realized the only word left to him, "rewards. On our own."

His eyes flicked to Crowley, chagrined. But Lucifer still had a hand in Crowley's hair and had let his fingertips drift down to rest against Crowley's neck. Points of possessive fire on Crowley's skin. Aziraphale looked at him and all Crowley really wanted to know, for that moment, was what Aziraphale considered to be a reward.

**Oh, but that isn't half as fun,** said Lucifer.

"Our definitions of fun may be disparate," Aziraphale said, casting his eyes up and back down again. Not quite rolling them. Thank fuck.

Lucifer glanced at Crowley and then back at Aziraphale. **Not that dissimilar,** he said. And he grinned at Crowley's breath catching.

"Why pay attention to us now, after all this time? Why-"

**I explained that.** Lucifer let go of Crowley and brushed his hand against Aziraphale's sleeve as he walked further into the bookshop. The cane got set against a bookcase. Lucifer had on all black today, down to his tie, and the shadows swallowed his outline when he moved over to the chairs they'd been sitting in.

Crowley tried stepping in front of Aziraphale but found the angel bumping into him, flustered. He also tried latching onto Aziraphale's wrist, but Aziraphale was doing that 'show no fear' thing he'd done in the theater and skirted past him. "You did not," he said, like it _mattered._

**I did.** It wasn't possible for Lucifer to sound petulant, so he didn't. He sat down on one end of a couch that was normally in the back and picked up the box of chocolates. **I noticed your clever little trick, and thought it would be pleasant to see the two of you together. Your trick, as we all know, that neither my court nor the Heavenly host have yet puzzled out.**

_Yet,_ Crowley thought, was a big word.

"Yes, well, you've seen us." Color rose high on Aziraphale's face. He was standing at the corner of the couch and his hands were still clenched.

"Angel," Crowley murmured, catching Aziraphale's arm.

Something approaching satisfaction surfaced on Lucifer's face. He leaned forward just slightly, eyes fixed on where Crowley's hand had hooked into Aziraphale's sleeve. The shadows in the windows dripped to the ground and began to stretch across the floor. Lucifer briefly touched his tongue to his lip and raised his head, the corner of his mouth upturned.

**I think I'd like to watch Aziraphale take you apart, darling.**

"What-" Aziraphale started, sitting heavily on the empty end of the couch.

It meant his mouth was open. Lucifer popped a truffle past his lips and Aziraphale sat there, startled, the chocolate resting on his tongue. Looking down, Lucifer picked up the note he'd scrawled, flipping it over to reveal a key to which chocolates were which. Crowley hadn't noticed that, when he'd grabbed it out of Aziraphale's hand earlier. **Your halo drew some unwanted attention, but it's no matter for me to mask Crowley's energy. That one has fig and port, Aziraphale, eat it.**

Aziraphale blinked. Then he closed his lips, chewed, and swallowed. And made one of those noises that had occasionally forced Crowley to dim the lights at a restaurant, because Aziraphale made no distinction between various physical indulgences. They were all transcendent. At the noise, Lucifer raised an amused eyebrow at Crowley.

If Crowley didn't move, he'd have to watch Aziraphale be fed the rest of the box of chocolate. He didn't think he could handle that.

Swallowing, he slunk forward and dropped himself across Lucifer's lap, knees on the outside of Lucifer's thighs so his own legs were spread. He put one hand on the back of the couch so his arm was between Lucifer and Aziraphale, and with his free hand he plucked a random truffle from the box and held it up to his mouth.

A slow smile spread over Lucifer’s face when Crowley's tongue snaked out and wrapped around the truffle before drawing it back into his mouth.

**Possessive little serpent.** Lucifer laid a hand on the small of his back.

Crowley cracked a dark chocolate shell with his teeth and tasted more chocolate, but also cognac. He let it linger on his tongue for a second and then swallowed the rest of it down. When he bent forward, Lucifer touched two fingers to his jaw and pushed him sideways, to where Aziraphale staring at him, wide-eyed.

Fine.

The last time had been frenetic. The last time had been near-delirious, heat boiling through him and Aziraphale so desperate for it Crowley was still surprised he'd lasted as long as he had. This time was not… that. This time Aziraphale was mad, and confused, and for some reason Lucifer had not chosen to send lightning out under Crowley's skin. (Yet.) So it was just Crowley who lifted his hand off the back of the couch, twisted it up in the fabric of Aziraphale's shirt, and pulled him into a cognac-tinged kiss.

The hand on his back took some of his weight. **Open your mouth.**

Crowley did, letting the forked end of his tongue skate over Aziraphale's lips. He knew from the other night that Aziraphale would open his mouth, too. And he knew the noise Aziraphale would make when Crowley kissed him again. His tongue in Aziraphale's mouth, his hand pulling at Aziraphale's shirt, his sunglasses bumping Aziraphale's face.

His, his, _his._

A sliver of him registered that he'd grabbed onto Lucifer's shoulder for balance and that Lucifer was undoing the buttons on his vest. **Let's get you out of all this.**

"Wait." Aziraphale pulled back. His mouth was reddened and wet and he was breathing hard.

Crowley put his head on Aziraphale's shoulder, and felt a hand reflexively tangle in his hair. He flicked his tongue out against Aziraphale's throat and was rewarded with a shudder.

"It'sss fine, angel," he said. It was not fine. It was sauntering vaguely downwards to fine, which should've been concerning, but Crowley was focused on keeping himself the one in Lucifer's lap instead of Aziraphale.

**Do you want to help?** Lucifer had finished with the vest. He drummed his fingers against Crowley's back and Crowley sat up, allowing his jacket to be pulled down his arms. **I did see you peel Crowley out of his things before, during the trial. We could do that again.**

It had been a bad idea to start thinking about rewards. Also, the chocolate was making the inside of his mouth buzz. Eating it had also probably been a bad idea.

"You don't need Azzziraphale to do that for you, Lord," Crowley said. He shrugged out of his vest.

The jacket was laid over the arm of the couch. "I'm not," Aziraphale faltered, as Crowley's fingers went to the buttons of his shirt. "I'm not - I'm not helping you _discorporate_ him," he said, his voice almost a whine as the shirt started to fall open.

**I am more than capable of keeping Crowley in this corporation,** Lucifer drawled. **Although I would very much like to see the climax you'd give him to achieve it, Aziraphale.**

Crowley choked, and Lucifer winked at him. **Shoulders back,** he said.

"It's not funny," Aziraphale snapped.

An unhelpful corner of Crowley's brain - and also his spine, his gut, and his cock - hissed that it wasn't funny, either. He let his shirt be dragged off him to join the clothes pile and shut his eyes as if it would help push down a sudden, horrific desire to know what it'd be like to discorporate from an orgasm.

"You can't just come in here and insist-"

**_You_ can't tell me that Heaven's been taking care of you since the Fall, Aziraphale. Not after what Crowley told us about your near-execution. I remember how much you enjoyed tending other angels' wings. When was your last opportunity?**

Crowley shuddered. "Fuck," he said, and flinched when he'd realized he'd said it. But Lucifer was just smiling. If it weren't for the buzzing, chocolate-cognac feeling starting to simmer through him, Crowley would be more concerned about facing the Morningstar in an indulgent mood.

Aziraphale stared at them both. Some of his anger peeled away, and he looked at Crowley so calmly that Crowley wanted to climb into his lap and kiss him again. He couldn't - His mouth buzzed, his head was cloudy, and every touch of Lucifer's fingers on his bare skin left behind humming streaks. Every single part of him was starting to sing, and in a dimensional plane slightly behind him, his wings rustled.

How was Aziraphale just _watching_ him?

Aziraphale said, softly, "You can't Tempt me with something I give freely, out of love, Lucifer."

Crowley bit back a moan. "Angel."

**Who's Tempting?**

"I don't claim to know what your aim is here, especially as you are being so obstinate about it, but you can't think any part of me doing this for Crowley belongs to you."

Fuck, _fuck._ His brain hissed so much it sizzled.

Bright blue eyes slid up to the ceiling, then back down to Crowley. Lucifer busied himself with taking off the scarf-necklace - and not the chain one, underneath it. His fingers brushed Crowley's glasses but didn't actually remove them. Instead he dropped his hand and skimmed his fingers over Crowley's bare chest, lightning sparking with each touch. He traced the scales on Crowley's belt buckle.

**Who was the last person to tend your wings for you, Sweet Principality? Was it me?**

If it was possible for a brain to fold in on itself, Crowley's would be the first to achieve it. Aziraphale hadn't asked him about _darling_ and he'd been willing himself out of asking about _Sweet Principality_ but shit, damn, fuck. Half of him was slightly horrified at the thought of Aziraphale having been _favored_ Before, in Heaven, and the other half was alarmingly turned on by the thought of what it must have looked like.

"That is certainly none of your business," Aziraphale said, icily.

When Crowley reached out Aziraphale's hand reflexively came up to meet his. Crowley kissed his knuckles and watched him blink, and then he flicked his tongue against the skin between Aziraphale's fingers and watched him bite his lip. He kissed one of Aziraphale's fingertips and let his tongue wind around Aziraphale's finger, down to his ring. Aziraphale looked like maybe his brain was threatening to fold in, too.

That sort of look also set off honeyed fire. It rolled straight over the lightning before sinking down to settle low in Crowley's gut. Underneath Lucifer's humming, past the buzzing in his mouth and on his tongue, smugness coiled.

**Has someone else taken care of you since then?** Lucifer sounded genuinely curious, but was also undoing Crowley's belt. The leather made a sound a lot like Crowley's actual scales as it was pulled from his jeans.

Aziraphale tilted his chin up. His hand was only shaking a little as Crowley drew his tongue back. He said, "Crowley has always taken care of me," and he didn't mean wings, which also made Crowley feel smug.

But mostly Crowley was smug because _he_ knew. It was _his_ business, who'd touched Aziraphale's wings last.

**Then it's only fair to repay him. Parity. You care about that, don't you?** Lucifer laid his hands on Crowley's hips. **Wings out, darling.**

"Lord," Crowley said, and obliged.

There was a small whisper of sound as they unfurled. They made less noise than Aziraphale, who bit his lip against a pained whine.

The weight of his wings pulled Crowley back slightly. Lucifer's hands shifted to take some of the weight, so Crowley didn't have to lift his wings to stay upright. Not lifting his wings meant he could let them rest against his back. Let one wing entirely sprawl across Aziraphale's lap.

Pale blue eyes watched him, huge. Aziraphale had reflexively raised his hands when Crowley's wings had appeared, so now they hovered over his feathers. The angel's fingers were curled in. And they shook.

**Crowley. Do you recall the last time we did this?** Lucifer asked. He curled one arm around Crowley's waist, so he could lift his other hand. He trailed a finger along the bend of Crowley's right wing, the one tossed over Aziraphale's lap. The touch sparked.

"Yeah," Crowley managed to say. Yeah was a good word. It didn't have a hiss built into it.

**Show Aziraphale.**

The weight of Aziraphale's gaze was a physical thing on Crowley's bare arms, his naked chest, his _wings,_ as he raised his hands and linked them together behind Lucifer's neck. He briefly touched his forehead to Lucifer's and then tilted his head - left, so he didn't have to look at Aziraphale while he did it - and pressed their mouths together.

Next to them, Aziraphale sucked in a damp breath.

The kiss was nearly perfunctory - although Lucifer did make an appreciative noise when Crowley's tongue slid into his mouth. That wasn't the point. It hadn't been the point the last time, either, except that when Lucifer was … like this … he tended to say things like, **_Put on a show,_** and Crowley knew better than to let him down.

Crowley spread his thighs some and angled his hips so his bare stomach pressed against Lucifer's shirt. He drew his wings up slightly, so the one on his right dragged over Aziraphale's lap, and the left one brushed Lucifer's arm.

Lucifer's right hand drifted up toward the top of Crowley's wing, where feathers gathered densely against muscle stretched along a line of hollow bone. The last time Lucifer had stroked his wing like this, it had not been building up to simply nudging his thumb down through Crowley's feathers to graze the edge of his nail against the sensitive skin underneath. The touch was so shockingly light that Crowley wasn't sure he'd felt it until Lucifer rolled his thumb back up, the way it came, the sharp curve of his nail just barely scraping skin.

Crowley's entire wing shuddered. The one hanging off the other side of the couch, with nowhere to rest but upholstery, folded in reflexively. His other wanted to but Lucifer palmed the joint at the bend and held it open. Or, as much as he could, with just that point of pressure.

The result was that Crowley's wing curled entirely around Aziraphale, and, _fuck._

Crowley pulled his tongue back into his own mouth. His glasses started to tip off his face and Lucifer let go of his wing long enough to reach up and adjust them back into place. Crowley's wing was solidly curved over Aziraphale's far shoulder, now, so it didn't really matter that Lucifer had let go.

**We're leaving these on for now,** Lucifer informed him, touching the temple of his glasses. **I told you I wanted to watch Aziraphale take you apart and I meant it. He gets to pick when these come off.**

Crowley turned his head and nearly moaned.

Aziraphale had one hand clamped over his mouth and the other wrapped around his wrist, like he was trying to hold himself down and trying to stop himself from doing so all at once. He was trembling - Crowly could feel it, against his wing, and it felt good. It shuddered all through his feathers. Aziraphale's eyes were still huge and when Crowley let the forked tip of his tongue lick the air past his lips, Aziraphale gasped again, against his palm.

Lucifer sighed. **I don't see what you think you're refraining from, Aziraphale. Unless you just like to make Crowley wait.**

"Angel," Crowley said. When he'd licked the air he'd gotten - he'd tasted it, and he knew Aziraphale was - that he was. Well. It was still a new smell, in the grand scheme of things, but Crowley was already intimately familiar with it.

He hesitantly untangled his fingers from behind Lucifer's neck. It got him a curious look, but Lucifer stopped teasing his wings for a moment to hold him in place while Crowley moved one hand to his shoulder for balance.

The other he reached out to Aziraphale, to curl around the angel's wrist and tug it down. Aziraphale's eyes flashed sharp and unhappy, betrayed. The look melted away when Crowley lifted Aziraphale's hand to his mouth and kissed his finger, just above his ring.

"I think," he said, watching Aziraphale's face, keeping his hand tight in his own. "That, uh, Lord. That maybe - he should… watch?"

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. Aziraphale's hand curled around Crowley's.

It was hard to out-think the fizzing in his brain, but Crowley tried. "The couch isn't. Isn't really built for three," he said, pulling the words out of the air one by one, surprised that they were falling into something like sentences. Like shaking out a box of fridge magnets and finding near-poetry. (Not that Crowley had ever done anything with fridge-poetry magnets except pluck out the suggestive words.)

"I could ssshow him," Crowley said, turning back to Lucifer, "what I did for you, last time. Lord."

And then there'd be no danger of someone else's mouth on Aziraphale's.

**The furniture here isn't quite amendable to that sort of thing,** Lucifer said, dryly.

Crowley shifted his hips. "I can make it work," he promised. He moved his head so his throat stretched, and when Lucifer's eyes dipped down to his pulse, he bent forward and kissed Lucifer's jaw. Aziraphale was the only one watching, so it didn't quite feel like he was about to be cut open, but Crowley's heart was still threatening to beat right out of his ribcage.

**I'm sure you could.** Lucifer's thumb shifted back down through Crowley's feathers. The pressure he applied with his nail this time had the weight of his arm behind it, and Crowley hissed wordlessly.

Aziraphale abruptly twisted out of Crowley's grip and all of a sudden Crowley was looking at him holding Lucifer's wrist in his hand. Specifically, holding it back, away from Crowley's wing.

Icy cold splashed through him.

_"I,"_ Aziraphale said. His voice rang in a way that made Crowley understand he was speaking in all capitals. It must have shown in Crowley's face because Aziraphale looked immediately sheepish and swallowed. The rest of the sentence sounded normal. "I am not interested in watching you walk Crowley down a line of pain."

Lucifer skimmed his eyes up and down Aziraphale. He did not make a move to pull himself free. Before he replied, he wet his bottom lip. The arm still around Crowley's waist felt like a hot iron bar.

A deeply unnecessary part of Crowley's brain supplied an image of Lucifer looking that pleased at the sound of Michael's _VOICE,_ too. Which. Was not a thing that he needed to wonder about, not ever, but definitely not now.

**We should move this somewhere more agreeable, then,** Lucifer said. He gently shook his wrist free from Aziraphale's hold.

When he snapped his fingers, a sound of pure dismay escaped Aziraphale's mouth. At the far wall one of the bookshelves was gone. In its place was a door that Crowley was pretty sure up until that moment had been the door between his hall and his bedroom.

"That shelf," Aziraphale said, his voice strained, "had my signed editions of Shelley."

**Prometheus Unbound is overrated. Crowley, up.**

Aziraphale actually took a moment to correct, "Mary Wollstonecraft," affronted as Crowley had ever heard him.

Both Crowley's feet hit the floor and he had to flex his wings to keep from tipping over. Lucifer rose, picking up the chocolates, and said, **I shouldn't have assumed. They'll be back when you return.**

He crossed the room and pulled the door open. Beyond it lay Crowley's bedroom. Expecting anything else would have been stupid, but Crowley still drew his wings in up against his sides at the sight. Lucifer stepped over the threshold and Crowley briefly contemplated slamming the door shut between them, except there was no lock on it and also he didn't actually want to be immolated.

When he looked over at Aziraphale he could see the same thought on the angel's face.

"It wouldn't work."

"I know," Aziraphale said.

From the bedroom, Lucifer cleared his throat. He had taken off his jacket and draped it over a chair that looked like he'd dragged it in from one of the little nooks in the shop. **Don't keep me waiting.**

Crowley didn't really remember the walk into the room but he did hear the door shut behind them. He did feel Aziraphale's hand at the small of his back. He flicked his wings backwards, so they brushed against Aziraphale's arm, and his chest. Heat pooled low in Crowley's gut when Aziraphale's hand shifted, so his nails brushed Crowley's skin.

The walls and floor here were the same unforgiving concrete as the rest of the flat. The bed was a black matte platform holding an enormous mattress, the only plush thing in the entire place. The sheets were black and shone with it. Right now there was also a headboard of flat, black wooden posts because the last time Aziraphale had been in Crowley's bed, they'd needed posts. Crowley had since miracled away the ropes. It was, in a sprawling universe of unfortunate things happening to Crowley, a small cosmic mercy.

But Lucifer was circling around behind them and he had to stop thinking about that.

**Which way do you want Crowley facing?** He was undoing his cufflinks.

"Are you going to sit and watch?" Aziraphale asked, eyeing the chair with the jacket on it. The cufflinks got tucked into a jacket pocket. Crowley noticed that a pair of black shoes sat underneath the chair.

Lucifer reached out to undo a button on Aziraphale's waistcoat. **As if I would pass up the opportunity.**

Aziraphale pressed his lips together.

**You remember what I like, sweet Principality.** Lucifer finished with the waistcoat and reached up with both hands to tug Aziraphale's overcoat down, off his shoulders. **I want to see your face during this. Tell me which of us you want Crowley to watch.**

"That doesn't seem like a question that needs asking," he said, primly. His hands had started to shake again.

The coat got hung on the wall, on the hook Crowley had wished into place for it a couple months back.

Crowley stepped up behind Aziraphale and reached around him, so that when Lucifer turned back around Crowley was already undoing the buttons on Aziraphale's shirt. It served a dual purpose of Lucifer not being the one to do it, and Aziraphale lifting his head so Crowley could start to kiss his throat. It made Aziraphale shudder.

**So obliging. It's unnecessary, Crowley. On the bed now, and out of the rest of your clothes.**

Which meant that while Crowley was slithering backwards on his sheets, naked except for his glasses and chain necklace, Lucifer was stripping Aziraphale to the waist. He took his time rolling Aziraphale's shirt off his shoulders, and he said something to Aziraphale in a quiet voice Crowley didn't catch. Whatever the words had been made Aziraphale turn his head. The motion bared his neck. For a second he was caught up in his shirt, tugged halfway down his arms, so he couldn't move his hands.

Lucifer dipped his head and closed his mouth over Aziraphale's throat. Aziraphale made a small, breathy noise.

Crowley's wing knocked against the box of chocolate. He had to scramble to catch it before it hit the ground. The lid came off, and he had a sliver of mint wafer in his hand. He glanced up to see that Lucifer had nudged Aziraphale forward.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley. There was a red spot on his neck.

Lucifer made a dissatisfied noise. **That won't do at all,** he said, and snapped his fingers.

Both of them froze, but all that happened was that the color vanished from Crowley's sheets. They were still satin, they still caught the light, but now it bounced back white instead of black. Lucifer glanced at him. **Contrast. You'll look much better splayed out on a bright background.**

Then he took the mint chocolate from Crowley's hand and held it up to Aziraphale's lips.

Crowley clenched his jaw but ultimately the best defense against not making a noise was simply not breathing. For a second, he could manage that. Watching Aziraphale's lips part and the way Lucifer's eyes fell to the angel's mouth as he ate the chocolate only took a second. Holding himself still through the startled, pleased noise that Aziraphale made at the taste only took a second.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, softly, when he had swallowed. He looked oh so utterly stricken. "Ah. I think… If you could move to the middle of the bed, please."

Smiling, Lucifer told him, **We're going to fuck you, darling. Do as Aziraphale says.**

He did. He shifted back to kneel in the middle of the bed and decided to marvel at Aziraphale carefully removing his shoes and the rest of his clothes, instead of the way Lucifer watched him do it. Aziraphale wore snug blue boxer briefs that matched the blue of his socks, which he wore with matching navy garters wrapped around his calf.

"Aziraphale," Crowley said, after he'd carefully folded his slacks. Lucifer's eyes were on the soft line of his stomach. When Aziraphale looked at Crowley, he seemed completely unbothered by it, his back and shoulders straight.

The picture of dignity was, Crowley thought uncomfortably, not exactly marred by the soft flush to Aziraphale's face or the obvious line of his cock underneath dark blue fabric, already hard.

"Let me help." Crowley moved his shoulders so his wings tilted. They soaked up the bedroom light like it was sunshine, the black feathers warm under it. It had been a long time since he had actually used them like this. Demons didn't _flirt,_ not with each other, but Aziraphale's eyes tracked the movement of his feathers dragging against the stark white sheets so Crowley thought he couldn't be doing it all wrong.

"What, from the bed?" Aziraphale asked, but moved onto the mattress to kneel in front of Crowley anyway.

"I'll figure it out."

Watching quietly, Lucifer removed his tie and draped it on top of his jacket.

Crowley dropped his hands to Aziraphale's hips. Then he dropped his eyes to Aziraphale's chest, so he didn't have to watch the pale shapes of Lucifer's hands start to open his own shirt. Crowley rolled his thumbs over Aziraphale's hips, allowing himself a moment of gratification at the sound of Aziraphale's breath hitching.

He hooked his thumbs into the band of Aziraphale's boxer briefs. He should be more concerned about the fact that his stereo had started up, a low hum of instruments without vocals, but mostly what he thought was that he wanted to and had nothing stopping him from saying, "Want you out of this." The words buzzed on his tongue as he spoke them.

Aziraphale gave him a look, flustered. His hand came up to the side of Crowley's face. "My dear," he murmured.

It was hard to be worried, with Aziraphale looking at him like that.

He bent his head enough for his glasses to shift down, so he could look up at Aziraphale through his lashes. "Yours," he agreed, because it always made Aziraphale's pink blushes shade red and did not fail him this time either.

"I am so sorry," Aziraphale whispered. Even the tips of his ears were red. An answering heat was starting to spread through Crowley, inch by inch, hesitant in the face of apology. "In any case I am not about to allow him to harm you, Crowley. But my dear, I want very badly to do this, and I don't think I can hold back much longer."

"Don't?" Crowley said, too flushed through with heat to be embarrassed that it came out as a question.

Aziraphale's hand suggested pressure on Crowley's jawline and Crowley toppled forward into him.

His wings snapped around Aziraphale and one of Aziraphale's hands grabbed his, leaving him with just one free, but that was enough. He thought the boxer briefs gone, felt Aziraphale suck in a lungful of air from against his lips. He left the socks and garters on and used his free hand to cup Aziraphale's ass and pull them together. It got Crowley the dual benefit of his cock fitting against Aziraphale and Aziraphale's mouth open under his. He had a moment to tease Aziraphale's tongue with his own.

Then he felt a bare chest pressing flat against his back. Heat seeped under Crowley's skin, hot enough to make him gasp and break backwards. The hand he'd had on Aziraphale's ass fell and was caught up in Lucifer's own, twisted and pulled to his side but not quite behind his back, so he had to arch up. He could feel very clearly that Lucifer had removed more than just his shirt before sinking onto the bed with them.

Aziraphale leveled a glare at the Morningstar, who was kissing the side of Crowley's face and sliding his other hand down Crowley's stomach. "Excuse me."

**You made it look so good,** Lucifer said. He laughed at the flash in Aziraphale's eyes. **Forgive me, angel.**

Crowley felt his teeth grind.

"Let Crowley go," Aziraphale said.

Lucifer made a thoughtful noise against Crowley's skin and glanced up at Aziraphale. He did not let go of Crowley's wrist, but very carefully tugged it all the way behind Crowley's back, so his wing lay heavily across his arm and his back continued to arch. His other hand continued sliding down so his fingers briefly traced a line along Crowley's cock, then dipped to cup Crowley's balls.

**Why? Do you have something you want him to do with his hands?**

For some reason, instead of another flustered protest, Aziraphale's mouth fell shut. 

Lucifer rolled his palm over Crowley and Crowley felt his wings try to snap in. His feathers hit his sides. Because his left arm was in the way, that wing couldn't fold, and at the sight of all this Aziraphale reached up to clasp the bend in his right wing and gently (but determinedly) hold it still. It felt like being forced down on his knees. Which was stupid, because he was already on his knees, although the bed was a lot softer than the floor would have been. He tried to flex the wing again and Aziraphale carefully pressed his arm against it, from wrist to elbow, to hold it open.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, swallowing. "You… you need to keep your wings open. Please."

"Easy for you to say," Crowley hissed. His left shoulder was starting to ache from being held back.

Another laugh. It spun down his neck and over his spine to punch at the bottom of his gut. **We could do with Crowley what we used to do with you, Aziraphale.**

"I would-" Aziraphale faltered, again. "I would rather not."

**Aziraphale takes overstimulation well,** Lucifer explained, his voice miles away from the fact that he was running his thumb across the end of Crowley's cock and smearing the rest of him with precum. **I used to resort to binding his wrists when he couldn't hold himself still.**

Crowley's body attempted to exhale and inhale at the same time. It did not work.

"Let Crowley go, Lucifer," Aziraphale repeated. "You don't need to hold him for me."

**If you insist.** Lucifer released his arm.

The next smile Crowley got was tight at the corners. Crowley hated that look and wanted to wipe it off Aziraphale's face. It bled embarrassment, and now did not seem like a great time to say, _'Hey, who in this room_ hasn't _Lucifer tied up and fucked senseless?'_

Aziraphale cleared his throat. "Stretch your wings back out?"

"Sssure, angel." Crowley put his hands on Aziraphale's thighs for balance.

The effort of straightening his wings and staying upright hurt. While he struggled, Lucifer slowly ran his thumb along the underside of Crowley's cock. And Aziraphale wasn't helping. He smoothed some feathers on Crowley's left wing that had gotten smashed out of place against his arm. Every time he moved another feather, he used two fingers to trace its outline and press _in,_ to make it lay flat.

"You're really taking your sssweet time with that." Crowley tried and failed not to dig his fingers into Aziraphale's broad thighs. He got a brief touch to one of his hands when he spoke, so Aziraphale must not mind that much.

"They were all mussed."

"Are you going to touch every single feather like that, one by one?"

He was panting and couldn't convince his lungs that it wasn't necessary. If Aziraphale's answer was yes they were going to end up with a giant serpent in the middle of the bed, because he didn't think he could take that.

Aziraphale finally looked back at him, his eyes flicking up, just for a second. "I can do other things," he said softly. Some of the embarrassment had fallen away. "If you want."

"Oh, yeah," Crowley said, only a little hysterically. "Whenever you can get around to it."

Shaking his head, the absolute bastard bent and kissed the top of Crowley's right wing where it curved down toward Crowley's shoulder. And slid his left hand down through Crowley's newly-smoothed feathers, so his fingers were buried in the soft down underneath and his short nails - _fuck_ \- scraped the shafts of several quills at once.

Crowley spilled all over Lucifer's hand with a sharp groan. Lucifer's hand left Crowley's cock to curl over one of his thighs, smearing come on Crowley's skin. Then he was pulled back, and Aziraphale lifted his head. Lucifer had pressed one hand flat against Crowley's stomach and was shifting to sit with his back against the headboard, so Crowley was in his lap. The part of Crowley's brain that had devoted itself to ignoring Lucifer's hard cock pressed up against him for the last couple minutes went dark.

"Lucifer, we don't need to do _this,"_ Aziraphale said, like it would mean something to Lucifer, and oh, Crowley had questions. "I can… take care of you, in a few moments."

"The Heaven you can," Crowley said, before he could think twice.

He got an angelic glare for it but also another laugh.

**You've made your angel selfish,** Lucifer said, apparently pleased about it. His hands dug into Crowley's hips. His cock pressed against Crowley's ass. **I'm sure you can manage for this afternoon. You were always so good at sharing, Aziraphale. Being shared, too.**

"That isn't how I would characterize it," Aziraphale muttered without elaboration.

Lucifer scraped his teeth and dragged his tongue along the rim of Crowley's ear. He shifted to press his cock into Crowley, slow. Crowley recognized the feeling of the oil Aziraphale had bought for them at the store two doors down from the bookshop. Because Aziraphale liked that sort of Earthly touch to things.

He couldn't turn away from the touch. Lucifer held Crowley's hips still while moving his own. His grip was enough to lock Crowley into place. And, well. Crowley knew from experience what it felt like to be stretched open on Lucifer's cock and just because Aziraphale was here, just because he was being visibly gentle, didn't mean that it was any different now.

**You should have seen him, Crowley. All spun out and golden.** Lucifer moved forward and pulled Crowley back in the same motion. **It's a pity I didn't introduce the two of you back then.**

"Worked out all right, Lord," Crowley mumbled. He was stretched and full and he did not even try not to picture what _spun out and golden_ meant. Halos must have played into it.

**One could say so.**

That stricken look was back on Aziraphale's face. "Dearest…"

Scales had risen on Crowley's stomach. Crowley knew, because Aziraphale touched his fingertips to them. Scales showed there, the insides of his thighs, at his heels and several otherwise vulnerable and soft spots on his arms.

Lucifer took the opportunity to lean all the way up against his back, bend forward, and catch Aziraphale's mouth with his. For a moment his weight lay on Crowley's wing. It brought sparks to the corners of his vision, until Lucifer grinned against Aziraphale's mouth and leaned away again.

In Crowley's grip Aziraphale shook, his mouth reddened. His hand slipped on Crowley's scales. A nail brushed the edge between keratin and skin.

Giving up, Crowley let both his wings fall around Aziraphale so they overlapped and wrapped the angel in a cloud of shining black. Aziraphale gasped, startled at the sudden flood of feathers against his skin. Blue eyes landed on him and there was not a trace of embarrassment left. Crowley would have given anything on Earth to keep Aziraphale looking at him like that, all flushed and soft and bare, wrapped in his wings.

It took a moment for Aziraphale to collect himself. "This rather limits my options," he said, chiding, like Crowley couldn't feel him trembling.

**You're creative.**

"Don't think there's much you need to do at this point, angel," Crowley admitted, his voice threatening to crack into a hiss. He held it back by his teeth.

Aziraphale blinked before giving him a tentative smile. Crowley relaxed his hands enough to slide them up Aziraphale's thighs and then to run one over his stomach, teasing. His arm brushed Aziraphale's cock but he didn't reach down to touch it. He licked his bottom lip.

Aziraphale's eyes darted to his tongue. "Oh."

When Lucifer thrust into him again, he kissed the back of Crowley's neck.

Humming, probably not realizing it was the same wordless tune playing through the stereo, Aziraphale twisted one way and then another. His cock was still hard and the end of it glistened. It didn't seem to bother him. He leaned back into Crowley's wings, letting them take his weight, and Crowley had never concentrated harder on keeping his wings still. It made the whole of them strain, but they held. He held Aziraphale there.

In six thousand years he had somehow never pictured any of Aziraphale's happy little wriggles like this. Not folded up in Crowley's wings. Had never even crossed his mind. It felt like a monumental failure of imagination.

Aziraphale turned his head and rubbed his cheek over the top of Crowley's left wing. And also shot Crowley a downright impish look from underneath his eyelashes, while one of his hands slid into the down of the right wing.

**Don't you two look a picture.**

"Lord," Crowley said, reflexively.

Wrapping one hand around the base of Aziraphale's cock earned him Aziraphale's eyes fluttering shut. A happy sigh fell from his lips when Crowley pulled his hand along his shaft. Aziraphale pressed his thumb and one fingertip down into Crowley's feathers and pinched, just barely. Crowley's hand slipped all the way off his cock. His wings shuddered. The sound of it drowned out the stereo, for a moment.

**You can see why I tied him up,** Lucifer said, thrusts picking up force.

It made it harder for Crowley to hold himself still, but when his wings shifted, Aziraphale moved with them.

A shadow had fallen over Aziraphale in a way that angles of light could not explain. Crowley noticed, then immediately hoped no one else had. The shadows from his wings stretched over Aziraphale's arms now. The soft expanse of his thighs. Lucifer thrust up again. Aziraphale bit his lip and the shadow fell over his cock, too.

"Crowley," Aziraphale sighed.

Their knees bumped. Crowley tried laying one hand on Aziraphale's thigh and bringing the other down to coil over - _no._ He was still solid. Still person-shaped. He brought his hand to _curve_ over Aziraphale's cock again, to start stroking him again.

A still-forked tongue tasted the air when Aziraphale pressed his other hand down through Crowley's feathers. Aziraphale lifted his hips so his cock met Crowley's palm and he turned to kiss the spot of Crowley's wing nearest his mouth. Crowley decided to do something clever with his fingers.

A second later, Aziraphale tossed his head back so his pale hair buried in Crowley's black feathers, rocking back against Crowley's wings while he came.

Everywhere Aziraphale touched him, his wings sparked. Sharper and deeper than the Morningstar heat at his back. Aziraphale pressed his forehead against one wing and laid both hands on the same spot, fussing at some feather out of place as if his entire body wasn't ruffling all the rest of them. He did that blasted thing again, tracing the feather and pressing it _in,_ down amongst the rest, and if Crowley had ever figured out how to swallow his own tongue it would've happened then.

Lucifer dug his fingers in so his nails scraped on Crowley's scales - because Crowley's hips and thighs were all covered, now. The scales shone in the light as much as his wings. When Lucifer came in him, it was hotter than Aziraphale, and what was left of Crowley's spine melted at it.

Then Aziraphale smiled and carefully lifted the sunglasses from his face, saying, "You look so lovely, my dear." He laid a possessive emphasis on _my._

The room went pitch dark as Crowley broke open.

***

"Put him back!"

**Hush. Crowley's still here. I haven't lost hold of him.**

"But-" Aziraphale would have grabbed Lucifer's arm, but he couldn't see it.

Couldn't see anything, not even his own hand in front of his face. He knew that because when he briefly touched his hand to his mouth, he, well. Couldn't see it. The room was so dark it felt like a physical thing. The air on his skin felt like the whisper of feathers with one movement and the suggestion of scales at the next.

**Aziraphale, you're the one who did this to him. Relax.**

"You promised you wouldn't let this happen," he protested.

He knew how foolish that must sound. But one second he'd been floating, Crowley holding him. The next he'd fallen back on his elbows because there had no longer been wings wrapped around him.

The room was still there. That much he could tell. Silk sheets bunched up beneath him and the mattress sank when he cautiously shifted upright, placing one hand on the bed for balance. There were little crescent-shaped aches on his thighs where Crowley had dug his fingers in. Healing it wouldn't even count as a miracle, but Aziraphale decided to leave them for the moment.

**Take it from me, Crowley is enjoying himself.**

Parts of the room darkened to deeper than black, so other spots seemed lighter by comparison. But there was no light, not really.

The bed shifted. Lucifer moved away from the headboard, although he didn't come all the way up to Aziraphale. **It is delightful how much he fills his own domain. In mine, he's never cloaked an entire room. I should have visited here before.**

"Hmm."

He tried touching one of the spots in the air that was darker than the rest. That his fingers simply passed through it to the bedsheets was an unpleasant surprise, given Lucifer's description of what was happening. He let his hand lay still while he thought. It was hard to pull himself in from the panic not being able to actually put his hands on Crowley, to look him in the eyes and know Aziraphale hadn't actually ruined everything, sent him back to Hell after they'd worked so hard to free him of it.

**I am impressed with how quickly you managed this,** Lucifer mused. Fingertips grazed Aziraphale's leg and he startled. **I expected to have to go another round, at least.**

That he was not going to acknowledge. He inhaled, and Lucifer's hand moved up his leg, over his knee, and settled on his thigh. His thumb traced a shape on Aziraphale's skin that reminded him an awful lot of a sigil, although he was too rattled to identify what it might be. Whatever it was did nothing to him anyway.

"You claimed," Aziraphale finally managed to say, having mentally thumbed through several scores of synonyms and chosen one he thought would upset Crowley the least, "that you could keep Crowley from discorporation."

No reply.

Aziraphale tilted his head and looked in the direction of the brooding silence a few inches in front of him. He had the feeling that this darkness was nothing to the Morningstar's eyes, and he wanted Lucifer to see exactly how displeased he was when he asked: "Were you wrong?"

**Sweet Principality,** Lucifer said, his voice now next to Aziraphale's ear, **do you think I am anything less than an expert when it comes to dismantling my Serpent?**

"That sounds an awful lot like an implication that he _is_ discorporated," Aziraphale said. His voice was remarkably normal considering his heart was solidly in his throat.

**Crowley.** The word dropped into the room like a stone tossed into water. Around them, darkness rippled. Aziraphale could feel it like feathers at his shoulders and scales across his lap. **Reassure Aziraphale that you are still perfectly physical.**

If asked, Aziraphale would have said that at the command the shadows coiled over him. Or he would have if he could've caught his breath. It felt like - like… The closest he could come to a description was like finding himself in the middle of the ocean on a sunny day. There was still no light but there was a suggestion of glare on the darkness. Aziraphale shut his eyes against it. He then felt the dark slip over his skin, rippling, and it was much like having the tide pull at him.

If it was possible to describe an ocean tide as radiating post-orgasm self-satisfaction, that was.

Far off, a sliver of him murmured that this also felt an awful lot like sitting in the passenger seat of the Bentley for a long night drive. With his head tipped back, his eyes shut, and the window cracked just enough for fresh air to spill over the both of them.

Lucifer kissed Aziraphale just under his ear. Aziraphale sucked in a breath and felt soft shadow on his tongue.

**We could do this with the both of you, you know. If you came back to mine there would be no question of … exposure to humanity. And it has been some time since Crowley visited me personally.**

"I'm… not sure that would be possible." The darkness had pressed up against his back, warm and possessive. He had to concentrate on not being swept up in the tide of it.

**I believe Crowley would answer a summons.**

For a split second Aziraphale wanted to say, _'well, he avoided coming back to the flat when you sent that orchid,'_ but even he realized that was slightly too brazen. "I don't think," he said instead, slowly, "that either of us are in a summoning position any longer."

It felt like the shadows were trying to get in under his skin. Actually, it wasn't half unpleasant, but it also wasn't the time. He needed to think and had the sense he needed to do it quickly.

**Would you like,** Lucifer murmured, **to find out?**

_'Not particularly'_ also seemed like a bad response. So Aziraphale, perfectly tired of being threatened and perfectly tired of sitting in the dark, said nothing as he unfurled his own wings.

He had expected them to cast a light at least around the bed. They did not. They did carry a light of their own, which meant they were murky gray shapes in the darkness. He could not read Lucifer's expression by them. He did hear a sudden sliding of scales across scales.

The darkness began to shrank. Slowly, at first, that scale-against-scale sound accompanying it, until everything was happening at once. Shadows condensed into a sinuous form and left the bedroom visible again. The serpent wound around Aziraphale's arm before sliding down to his lap and wrapping around his middle. He was mindful not to bump Aziraphale's wings and coiled himself across Aziraphale's chest and behind his neck to avoid it.

Then the serpent rested his head on Aziraphale's shoulder, and stared across the bed at Lucifer. Who watched them unblinkingly.

"Back to yourself, dearest?" Aziraphale asked. He hoped Crowley couldn't feel him quaking with relief.

A ribbon-thin, forked black tongue tasted the air. Taking that as an affirmative, Aziraphale stretched his neck so he could lay his cheek on Crowley's head. His scales were warm to the touch.

**Ah,** said Lucifer. The corner of his mouth curled. **You must have tired him out, Aziraphale.**

***

At some point Crowley fell asleep.

He knew this because when he opened his eyes to Aziraphale indignantly stating, "That is absolutely not the point," he had no idea what sentence had preceded it and was in no way expecting Lucifer's response to be, **Victor Frankenstein did create life and then draw away from it. He could not have done so without considering himself to be _a_ god, if not God.**

Also, Crowley wasn't a snake anymore.

"Victor Frankenstein," Aziraphale said, crisply, "also probably considers himself to be a doctor. He isn't that and he is not God. Man cannot play God. Especially not men who left university to loot mortuaries and gravesites. When did you last read the book?"

**Recently enough.**

Cool air at Crowley's back let him know that his wings had stayed gone, when he'd shifted into this shape. His head was in Aziraphale's lap. Aziraphale's hand was in his hair. The angel's wings were gone, too, and he was partially re-dressed. He'd put his boxer-briefs back on and his shirt, which he'd buttoned up. Next to him Lucifer reclined against the headboard, also back in his shirt, although he'd left it undone.

Lucifer held a leather-bound copy of _Frankenstein, Vol. I._ Crowley did not need to ask to know that it was from Aziraphale's signed set of the first edition.[2] Lucifer must have conjured it back from wherever he'd sent the bookshelf, when he'd made the door to Crowley's flat appear.

**And isn't he, at this point? A doctor?** Lucifer glanced down at Crowley and winked. If Crowley hadn't been watching for it, he would've missed it.

"I beg your pardon."

**If to most humans 'Frankenstein' means the Creation, and 'Victor' means the doctor, then doesn't that make him one by now?**

Aziraphale's jaw moved as he worked out some kind of reply. He started to speak and Crowley swung up to kiss his cheek, because none of them needed to know exactly what Aziraphale was going to say. Aziraphale jumped in surprise and Crolwey said, "Hey."

"You're awake!"

"M'awake," Crowley agreed, draping himself over Aziraphale's lap. He put his head on Aziraphale's shoulder and wrapped both his arms around Aziraphale's torso. Someone had wished his loose black pajama bottoms onto him. But his chest was bare and Aziraphale was warm. He spotted his sunglasses folded up on the nightstand, out of reach.

**I told you not to worry, Aziraphale.**

"Yes, well." Aziraphale put both his arms around Crowley in turn.

Then the stereo threw static at them. Crowley realized that whatever music Lucifer had put on at the beginning of all of this had still been playing in the background, low and soft. Only now the tune was over, and instead a Freddie Mercury-ish voice was asking, _"Is this thing on?"_

Crowley and Aziraphale stared at each other. Lucifer turned a page in the book. He said nothing.

_"It'zzz on, it'zzz on,"_ said another voice, reminiscent of David Bowie despite the buzzing, and then Freddie was back. _"Look, is the demon Crowley there or what?"_

"Might be," Crowley said. "Who's this?"

_"Dagon. And Beelzebub. But there's only one phone."_

Once, Crowley had explained speakerphone to Hell. Or tried, anyway. He'd had a presentation for it with diagrams and all. Clearly even the Apocalypse had not suggested to anyone downstairs that he might've been right about something.

"Hi, Dagon." There was no reply from the stereo, so Crowley asked, "You… call for a reason?"

_"Er, yeah. That is. The Dark Council was looking for… They thought you might know where, er."_ Dagon cleared her throat and waited. A creeping horror filled in the rest of the sentence for her. She must have known, because she didn't try to round it off herself. _"So, do you?"_

Crowley looked at the other side of the bed.

Lucifer turned another page. He did not look up from the text. **I thought we agreed that Crowley was no longer to be contacted, Dagon.**

Fucking news to him, Crowley thought. His arm ached some from where Lucifer had held it back, earlier. And his shoulders ached from the effort of manipulating his wings. And other parts of him ached, for other reasons.

_"…my Lord."_

**Is the Dark Council there with you?**

_"Not… as… such."_

**Where?**

_"At the gates, my Lord. The Archangel Michael is here."_

Underneath him, Aziraphale looked torn between fascination at office politics that in no way involved himself and a slight fear that maybe they did actually involve himself. He looked at Crowley, but Crowley could only shrug and nestle a little further into Aziraphale's lap. For the warmth.

Lucifer laid the book on the nightstand. **The Dark Council requires my help with one Archangel now, do they.**

And Beelzebub, who was a Prince of Hell and thus exempt from Council service, said, _"What'zzz left of them, maybe, Lord."_

**Did Michael state what she wants, besides discorporating inadequate demons?**

Aziraphale grimaced at the way he said 'inadequate,' which was a better reaction than Crowley's full-body cringe.

_"...Didn't catch it, my Lord,"_ Dagon said.

Sliding off the bed, Lucifer held one hand out. In a blink all his clothes were back on, including his tie. And in his outstretched hand was the silver-crowned cane sword. He gave it a slight frown and wiped his thumb against the crown, as if cleaning off a smudge.

**I assume that means Michael is looking for me.**

_"Pretty much, Lord,"_ said Beelzebub.

**Tell the remains of the Dark Council I will be there shortly.**

The stereo shut off.

Lucifer turned on his heel and gave them a once-over. **Darling, do let me know if you receive any further calls.**

"I, er." Crowley cleared his throat. He twisted a little in Aziraphale's lap. It would make his life easier if he just went 'yeah, sure.' So of course what he said was, "Don't have your number, Lord."

**Did I never get around to that?** Lucifer snapped his fingers. A gray business card with mirrored print appeared on the nightstand, on top of the first volume of _Frankenstein._ **And should Michael bother you…**

"I think we'll be fine," Aziraphale put in.

**I would strongly prefer to be called into any meetings Michael wishes to have with you.**

Aziraphale let his forehead wrinkle. For a second, Crowley thought he was genuinely confused. Then, "Should I call her in the next time you visit, then?" came out of his mouth, and Crowley realized that maybe that last orgasm had just knocked Aziraphale's brain straight out of his head.

Lucifer smiled. **Sweet Principality, I am not above gagging you.**

Crowley swallowed. Aziraphale glared and pinched his side.

**I expect to remain informed, Crowley.**

"Lord."

Then Lucifer crossed to the hallway door and opened it onto a corridor that did not exist in Crowley's flat. Only one light was on, far off, a long way away from the door. It took a moment but Crowley recognized it as the hall between Lucifer's quarters and the rest of Hell. Without looking over his shoulder or saying goodbye, Lucifer stepped through.

The door slammed decidedly shut behind him.

"Well," Aziraphale said. "That was."

And then he stopped, and just stared at Crowley.

Crowley had room now to sit down with his back against the pillows, next to Aziraphale. Instead he stayed in Aziraphale's lap. Again: No one had wished a shirt onto him, and he was cold. He reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair off Aziraphale's forehead. His hair was all mussed.

Hesitantly, Aziraphale ventured, "About… what Lucifer said. About him and me, Before."

"It's fine, angel. You don't have to explain."

"He was so overwhelming, Crowley," Aziraphale said, ignoring him. "It… It was difficult to say no, and he was so easily pleased back then."

Back then. Crowley winced. "Yeah."

Aziraphale gave him a helpless look. "He's very good at pressing buttons."

In a dimensional plane slightly behind him, his wings rustled, pleasantly sore in places. Crowley tried hoping that Aziraphale couldn't notice, couldn't see that, but Aziraphale's face went pink so that was one thought right out the window.

"It didn't hurt, did it?"

Crowley could only picture Aziraphale nestling backwards into his feathers. It was distracting. "What?"

Gesturing at the room with one hand, as if that was at all an explanation, Aziraphale waited. When Crowley didn't jump on that, he sighed and said, "When you… my dear, I don't know how to describe it, it wasn't exactly as if you Manifested, but…"

"Did it _hurt?_ Really?"

A less helpless look, this time.

Crowley kissed him, let his teeth graze Aziraphale's lip, until Aziraphale had started to squirm underneath him. Then he stopped and pulled back. "Did that hurt?"

"There's no need to be like that," Aziraphale grumbled, still glaring a little although his pupils had widened. That was nice. "I thought - I thought you might have discorporated, that something about Lucifer being there had made it possible. I didn't know what was happening."

"I was out of it. It took a second to come back around. Oh, like you weren't all gone when your halo came up."

Aziraphale huffed. He looked down, at Crowley's chest, which did absolutely nothing to hide his eyes. Aziraphale had never, not in thousands of years, picked up the trick of hiding his eyes. Crowley hadn't exactly been motivated to give him any tips and still wasn't, now.

"It was the only idea I had. I was worried."

"Probably good you didn't let me keep unraveling." Crowley raked his nails lightly over Aziraphale's ribs and was rewarded with a shuddering inhale. "Might've gotten your halo back."

"It might not be impossible for me to mask myself, if I prepared first," Aziraphale said, slowly, which made Crowley press his lips together to avoid groaning. Of course Aziraphale had been thinking about it. "But we are not going to allow Lucifer to corner us into meeting him in Hell."

Yeah, Crowley had heard that little invitation. And the threat of summons attached to it. He kissed Aziraphale's neck and did not say he wasn't sure Aziraphale was right, that he couldn't be summoned anymore. For all of Lucifer's talk about not being contacted anymore it wasn't as if Hell had delivered severance papers. If that was even possible. Hell didn't fire people.

Not the way humans used the word, anyway.

"Maybe he'll stay busy having it out with Michael," Crowley muttered, sitting up.

"Michael did wound him so grievously on his way out of Heaven. I remember that, I saw it, from a distance. I imagine she still has that sword. And I do actually know how to contact her."

"You weren't serious about that."

"Of course not," Aziraphale said, in his probably-truthful voice, the one that had always made Crowley a little suspicious but not suspicious enough to feel warranted about it. "But you wouldn't call Lucifer if we… did run into Michael, would you?"

Crowley slid off the bed. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."

"Where are you going?"

"To get my plants back into line. Haven't inspected them for days."

If Crowley hesitated before flinging his door open to confront the hallway to his flat, and not the corridor Lucier had called into place, Aziraphale didn't comment on it.

He did, a minute later, putter out into the living room after Crowley and say, "Oh."

Crowley glowered at the orchid.

It sat in the middle of the coffee table. Before the not-Apocalypse, Crowley had not had a coffee table. It was a big stone slab directly in front of the couch he had also not had before. But Aziraphale had seen the chairs that had already been in the flat, given Crowley a cow-eyed look, and all of a sudden there had been a living room with a leather couch and a coffee table. To put books on. Or, apparently, orchids.

"You could try the disposal?" Aziraphale hazarded.

"It would probably break it." Crowley bent down and nudged it to the side, so it wasn't smack dab in the center of the table. "Don't think you're getting any attention, I didn't ask for you," he told it, and spun off to check on the rubber trees.

He heard Aziraphale say, quietly, "It's not personal, you understand."

"Angel, we talked about encouraging the plants! If they think you're soft, they'll start appealing to you behind my back."

"I _am_ soft," Aziraphale said, sounding a little smug about it.

Crowley grabbed the mister and did not ask.

**Author's Note:**

> [1]The book's heroine kicks things off by accidentally getting herself kidnapped by the love interest, who of course she redeems by the end. After the first time Aziraphale had read it to him, Crowley had spent _months_ worrying about how an angel might 'accidentally' get himself kidnapped. [ return to text ]
> 
> [2]The inscription read _To Miss Fell, in thanks for her encouragements, from the Author._ Because there was little Aziraphale would not do to cozy up to a writer when the chance presented itself. [ return to text ]


End file.
